Disclaimer: Not mine

AN: So i'm throwing my hat in the OUAT ring; it's been awhile since i've written anything so bear with me. This will probably be 3 or 4 chapters altogether; i'm already mostly done with the second, so stay tuned. Hope to have it out before Sunday...who's excited about that? I know I am!

It doesn't take long before David realizes that staying with Kathryn just will not work out in the end. They both know it's not working, so when he packs a bag-he doesn't really need much else-and leaves for real this time, it's with a smile and hug. He loves her, just not in the way a husband should love a wife. And because she loves him, she lets him go.

He rents a room from a kind woman with a home on the outskirts of town, an old widow named Margaret "Maggie" Canty. Her only children are her horses that she rides often, and she is grateful for the company so she allows him to stay rent free as long as he helps her out around the home and in the yard with chores. He gets along with the horses strangely well, able to tame a crazy white stallion with an attitude problem. He lets David climb on him without issue, and he's soon cantering with him around the property as if they'd been together forever, which astounds him as he's only ridden a bit in his life. He becomes close with his landlord, and she cooks for him often with long talks where he mostly listens to her stories of her husband, and how things were different, once upon a time.

He ventures into town often enough as well, searching for more work so that he can actually pay Maggie and ends up picking up a bartending gig at the diner in town. He figures, that way, he'll soon see Mary and maybe he can explain himself and apologize. Maybe, someway, she'll forgive him and they can try again.

She's off-standish and cold at first; she has no interest in even acknowledging his presence and Emma, her mysterious friend from out of town is frosty, if not borderline hostile. But Henry-the mayors son, he remembers-always says hello with a wide smile and an enthusiasm that makes him smile back just as wide. There's a glint in his eye like he has a secret that makes David uneasy and excited all at the same time.

When he can't stand it any longer, he goes to her apartment and stands outside after he knocks, waiting. Maybe she's not home-he really doesn't know, but what he does know, is he's not leaving until he speaks with her. When she opens the door to get her paper in the morning, she finds him crouched in front of the door, curled in a ball as he slept.

"Are you stalking me now?" She asks, bemusedly, leaning against the doorframe as she pulls her robe tight around her. He blinks up at her sleepily and within moments, smiles bashfully as he realizes where he is.

"Good morning." He rasps. She shakes her head and steps back into her apartment, leaving the door open.

"Come in and get some coffee."

And he does.

They decide to go slow; friends first, as there's really no foundation for any relationship, and he is able to restrain himself from pursuing anything further in fear of putting her off entirely. It does not stop him, however, from staying late, squeezing as much time as he is able from her, soaking in every moment, every smile, every laugh.

Emma is not pleased. She's a prickly one, he decides; he can practically feel the animosity flowing from her in waves, but he cannot dislike her. He finds it oddly endearing, her protectiveness for Mary Margaret, and he grows to care for her as well. She has been off as of late, though; the Sheriff's death had hit her hard, and she doesn't seem used to people being concerned about her, which is probably why she turns on him one night while Mary is out of the room when he asks about how she is doing.

"I'm fine, David. Please, just...just leave it. Don't you have bigger issues in your own personal life to worry about?"

He ignores the dig and shakes his head; deflection will never work with him. "I just know, with him and the Mayor having been...involved, and she knows you and he were close, she's not trustworthy, Emma. I just..." He pauses. "You're very dear to Mary. That makes you dear to me as well. I would hate to see you hurt anymore." And he means it-he's almost surprised himself, how much he does.

She looks taken aback for a moment, but the vulnerable look is gone in a moment. "Yeah, I appreciate the sentiment, but how about you worry about you, hm? Cause I know what you're doing here. Spending so much time here. Being "friends" with her." She literally uses air quotes, and it's all he can do to keep the smile off of his face. "But I swear to God, if you hurt her again, I will end you."

"Emma." Mary's sharp voice comes from behind her and she is looking most disapproving at her roommate, who has the sense to look a bit ashamed. She shakes her head.

"I'm going out." Emma scoops her coat as she leaves and closes the front door forcefully as she leaves. David and Mary are alone.

"I'm sorry for her. She's just..."

"Protective, I know." He smiles at her as she pours herself some hot chocolate. She wordlessly offers him some and he nods. He watches as she sprinkles cinnamon in hers and asks for some himself. She smiles.

"You...like cinnamon in it too?"

"I guess so." He replies with a smile. He pauses for a moment, as she sprinkles it on. "She's right, you know. To be protective. After last time..."

"She didn't have to be so rude." She replies, almost sharply. "I'm a grown woman; I know what I'm getting into."

His heart swells. This is not just friendship then; he knows that for sure now. She quiets and looks down at her drink, both sipping at them for a few silent moments.

"Do you want to watch a movie then? Board game?" He breaks the silence, not knowing what else to say. She grins.

"Both would be awesome."

They end up drinking some wine and arguing over monopoly while some random movie plays in the background. They're arguing over who owns Park Avenue when the kiss happens, quick and chaste and makes their lips tingle more than the wine already has.

Mary pulls back, blinking rapidly. "It's...it's really late. I need...I'm gonna go to bed." She rose, grabbing the now empty wine bottle and glasses, and took them to the kitchen. "You can stay on the couch, if you need. It's really late."

He barely registers it. His mind is fuzzy and there's a buzzing in his ears, and he blinks up at her from the couch. "Yeah. I think...I think that's probably a good idea."

Neither pushes to talk about what happened, and Mary clicks off the lights as she disappears into her room without a word, closing her door behind her. David sighs and lets his head fall. And for the first time in months, he dreams.

He's dressed in absolutely ridiculous attire; seriously. A white poofy shirt, inappropriately tight pants with riding boots. There's a sword in his hand-a sword!-and a baby in the other. The baby freaks him out more.

He's fighting men in armor, fueled by a desperate need to reach /the wardrobe/. He's trying to figure out the dream as it happens, as the sword clanks against others and he swerves to keep his little girl safe.

His. He feels the clench in his chest, and it's so real, he'll awake with tear tracks in the morning. He makes it to the nursery, where he ducks and straightens to be slashed in the chest, taking away his breath. With every ounce he has, he raises his arm and strikes the man down with a killing blow. He knows he has only moments; more men will be coming soon. He hurries to the wardrobe and places the newborn inside. Her arms are waving, and her eyes are wide open; she's crying no more, but staring right at him, as if she knows he will do anything to keep her safe. He kisses her forehead as tear track down his face.

"Find us." He implores. He digs down deep inside himself, and closes the door as his heart breaks. More men appear and he is wounded, collapsing on the floor; his heart drops as he believes he has failed her, as the armored man beats the door of the wardrobe open.

She's gone. She's escaped. He smiles. She will find them...she will save them.

His eyes open, the dawning sun prompting his eyes to open and he's thankful that Mary's door is still closed. He can feel the tightness of his face, the swollen eyes from tears he's shed in the night and pulls himself up straight before burying his face in his hands.

It was so real; so very real that he could not imagine it not happening, and his head swims with more images, words, feelings. It's like when he saw the windmill months earlier, the same nauseous feeling in his gut. But how could it be real?

He shakes his head; it can't be. He had a little too much wine, he decides, and he should probably get home; Maggie worries if he's out long without word. He puts his hands to his sides to push himself up and he slips. Damn side cover, he thinks to himself, having slid to the floor in his effort. He blanches as he bends to retrieve it, his stomach flipping again because it's not a side cover, but a small, white knit blanket that his head rested on all the night. He picks it up and fingers it, clutches it tightly before releasing as he examines it.

Emma

It's the blanket the baby was wrapped in, in his dream; purple ribbons and a creamy wool knit. He tells himself he must have seen it sometime in the night, sometime before he fell asleep but he knows it's a lie. He hurries himself along, stopping by the fridge before he leaves.

We have to talk. Call me when you can. -D

P.S. I had a blast last night. Thanks for the couch :)

He doesn't want her to worry, after all, but the dream and the blanket is too much. He must go.

The slam of the front door awakens Mary from a deep slumber, where she dreamt of poison apples and men on white horses.

It feels real to her, too.